


The Cut

by anneapocalypse



Series: Jamie stories [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Gen, Haircuts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 12:26:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1688294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anneapocalypse/pseuds/anneapocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're not out of the Vault yet, but today you're one step closer to being free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cut

Today you are going to ask Butch DeLoria to cut your hair.

You are going to ask Butch not because you like Butch, not because Butch ever did you a single goddamn favor in your entire life, but because he is the new Vault barber. Because he’s actually good at cutting hair, and because you need to be confident about this. You are pretty sure it’s going to turn out better if you ask Butch to cut your hair than if you take an angry pair of sewing scissors to it in front of the mirror in your tiny bathroom in your tiny apartment in this tiny Vault where you have spent almost eighteen years being called by a name you can’t stand.

“You serious?” Butch says.

Say, “Yeah.”

“Like, short short?”

“Short short. Like…” Say it. Say it sayitsayit. “Like a boy’s.”

Wait for Butch’s eyebrows to come back down. Stare him down. Don’t you dare drop your eyes.

“Your daddy’s gonna kill you,” Butch smirks, reaching for those shiny hair shears he loves so much.

Say, “I don’t care.” Feel the weight of those words on your tongue.

Sit in the chair.

Do not watch the mirror, as Butch combs through your hair with brisk strokes. Watch instead as long strands of your hair drop to the floor. Feel the cool mist on your skin as he dampens your hair with the spray bottle. Listen to the whisper of the shears. Start to slip into an almost dreamy relaxation, as Butch’s strangely gentle fingers drag over your scalp. Almost feel a little sleepy, though you can still feel the anxious stutter of your heart deep in your chest—but wait to look.

Wait until after Butch fluffs your newly-short hair with both hands, grunts thoughtfully, then slicks up his hands with some pomade. Let him smooth and comb, smooth and comb, shaping the front into some kind of wave. Make a mental note to ask him how to do that yourself.

For once in your life, trust him.

Only then, when Butch says, “How you like that, huh?”—only then look at yourself in the mirror.

Do not look at Butch, who is looking at you in a new way, a way you are not sure how to interpret, but it doesn’t matter. Butch doesn’t matter. Look in the mirror.

Look in the mirror. Breathe. Look at the way those close, clean edges reshape your face. Look at how sleekly it arches away from your forehead—it’s simpler than you thought, you can totally do that. Breathe, Jamie—though you won’t be called that until the day you step outside, the day you realize that you can introduce yourself however you want—you can extend your hand with your unnaturally clean fingernails to the first person you meet, the bearded man in the big hat who is surprised at your manners and your vault suit and your clean hands, and you can say, “Hi, I’m Jamie,” and he will say, “Nice to meet you, Jamie,” and you will feel as if the world has turned rightside up.

Look in the mirror. You can already feel it starting to turn.

Breathe, Jamie. Your dad is not going to kill you. His face will furrow in that troubled way it does, and that will hurt, it will—but he will not kill you. You can’t know now, Jamie, that one day your dad will look you in the eye and call you by your name, the right name, the name you’ve hidden in the back of your throat since the day you chose it, and he’ll tell you that he’s proud of you. It’s going to happen, Jamie. A lot of other things have to happen first, and some things after. But just one thing today.

Today, you got your hair cut.

Breathe, Jamie. You’re going to get out of here alive.


End file.
